


Orange Milk.

by BoosterWritesAndReads



Category: No Fandom
Genre: random thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 15:22:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20695724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoosterWritesAndReads/pseuds/BoosterWritesAndReads
Summary: A mother gets a visit from his son.





	Orange Milk.

The middle-aged woman looked about her small cottage. In that particular moment, she was making herself breakfast. It consisted of eggs and toast and a little glass of white milk. She hummed along to the sweet sound of rain as it splattered onto her windows and fell onto the grass. Her home smelled of lavender- that and combined with the aesthetically pleasing lighting, it was something you’d expect to see as a theme on Tumblr. 

The ticking of the toaster exploded, alerting the woman that her toast was gonna be burnt if she didn’t get it soon. She did as silently told, nearly tossing it on the plate from its intense warmth. Her eyes then dared to where her eggs were sizzling, almost at perfection. Letting the eggs cook, she opened a cabinet to her right, picking out a small glass from her collection. The eggs were finished by the time she did this, so she picked up the spatula that lay next to the empty glass and transported them to her plate. 

Her mouth was watering at that point, only one thing that needed to be done to make her breakfast truly complete: the milk. She turned away from her heaping plate of fooding, facing the refrigerator in all of its glory. Her hand reached out, shooting straight towards the handle when she heard a voice.

“Mama..?” Her eyes ran around the small space: from the plate of food to the sliding door, to the couch with the news on mute, the rain still gushing outside.

A crack of thunder struck both her ears and the sky. “Goodness!” She exclaimed to herself.

“Mama..” The voice was clearer now. The woman worried, for it sounded like a smaller child’s voice. It almost sounded like.. No.

“Mama!” The mother tried so very hard to locate where the voice was coming from, thinking that she had gone mad. She ignored it, opening the fridge. A shiver went down her spine, spreading goosebumps through her skin. She shook her head from side to side, her hand latching onto the milk jug. 

That was the biggest mistake that woman had ever made in her life. She heard her breakfast topple onto the ground along with the plate, the glass smashing. She stepped back from the refrigerator, stepping on a glass shard. 

Her right foot burst with pain. She looked behind her to find that the once whole glass had separated all over the kitchen.

“Mama.” She almost felt like crying at this point. She bent down, lifting her half limp foot. She pulled at the glass shard, struggling to pull it out. 

“Let me help you.” The child’s voice came back, and then a figure. The little boy looked familiar: he wore a baggy t-shirt and shorts, long socks and tennis shoes. One thing that differed was the orange aura on and around his body. 

The rest of the glass on the floor rose. “Huh?-” One of the shards went straight into her other foot, hurling her into the ground. She started to cry, wanting to curl up and hug herself for hours. 

“Do you remember Papa?” The boy inquired, giggling. “Papa never had heard of orange milk before.”

“O-Orange..?” She could smell her blood. The boy sent more shards of glass into her skin at the response.

“Why mother, haven’t you heard of it before? It’s known to be quite good.” More laughing, more giggling from the small child. 

“I don’t know what the bloody h-hell you’re talking ab-bout-”

“Quite fitting, seen as it’s made in October. And, you know, this is a somewhat creepy story.”

“S-Story?”

“Nevermind. Mother, I will pour you a glass of orange milk, something my Papa failed to do. I can see why you left him.” She didn’t have the strength to lift up her head to view the expression of the boy, but she would bet her entire life’s worth that it was cocky. She felt the shards of glass exiting her body, more blood filling the air and her nostrils. She felt herself being lifted off the ground, as if she were floating. In fact- she was! The boy was smiling cocky, like he was a magician with a magnificent magic trick.

The shards of glass headed straight for the boy. The rustling of her old cabinets started, and they were flung open. Dozens of cups and glasses were flying out and smashing, falling on the floor and flying immediately back up. 

Things for the mother started to blur, and she could hear a static ringing in her left ear. The glass all started to morph, forming an enormous glass. It was clear, the width being so large the woman and child could barely fit in the spacious kitchen. The roof seemed almost ready to die.

“There’s a party in my tummy!” The child began to vomit orange goo. “So yummy, so yummy!” It was a horrible sight: the liquid was lifted and began to fill up the mammoth glass. The woman herself felt ready to throw up at the fuzzy sight. 

One minute after another passed, the giant glass filling more and more. Eventually it was completely filled up with that strange orange liquid. “Now THAT,” the boy exclaimed, “is some good orange milk.” He smiled, moving and flicking his hand upwards. The glass tipped over, pouring some onto the floor. “Would be a shame if… some dropped, Mama.” He kept spilling the milk, the mother gasping. 

“Not my floor! You young man will st-” The milk man dropped the middle-aged woman right into the milk and kept pouring it on her. The house started to fill up like a carton of milk. The boy laughed and giggled like a crazy man as he worked, slowly drowning his mother.

It had always been his favourite method of homicide.

**Author's Note:**

> Uh yeah, this was just a random thing off of a quickwrite that I heard about someone in my Creative Writing class. The original story thingy was about a young boy who asked his father for Orange Milk, though his father hadn't the fondest idea what that was.


End file.
